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I lifted my hands in surrender. “I didn't say anything.”

“You're thinking it.”

“Thinking's still legal.”

She bought another round. Missed again.

The attendant gave her a sympathetic smile. “It's harder than it looks.”

Mikayla's eyes narrowed. Oh, boy. I'd seen that expression before. Usually right before someone got verbally disassembled.

“Another round,” she said.

Twenty dollars later, she was still empty-handed. I leaned against the booth. “Want some help?”

“No.”

“Okay, but⁠—”

“I run a multinational corporation.”

“Yes you do,” I agreed.

“I can handle a ring toss.”

“Never doubted it.”

She missed again. I bit the inside of my cheek.

She pointed at me. “If you laugh, I will end you.”

I nodded solemnly. Then laughed. Couldn't help it.

“Fine.” She shoved the remaining rings into my hand. “You think it’s so easy, you do it.”

I tossed one. It landed perfectly. Then one more with the same success, and the third skipped across the bottle tops before settling around one of the necks.

“We have a winner!” the attendant announced and handed me a giant stuffed octopus.

Mikayla’s mouth was slightly open. I handed it to her. “For you.”

She looked at the octopus. Then at me. “I hate you.”

“Sure you do.”

She hugged the ridiculous purple thing to her chest. And smiled.

We'd just finished sharing a funnel cake when another woman approached.

“Damon Lockhart!”

I turned. “Hey, Brooke.”

Brooke was an old friend from high school. We'd dated briefly our senior year, which in Valentine Bay meant half the town was still waiting for our wedding announcement. She’d only recently moved back to town after living in Los Angeles for the past ten years.

She hugged me. A little longer than necessary. Then stepped back. “Look at you. Still breaking hearts?”

“Retired.”